Beauty Is Relative
by rosieredrum
Summary: Rosalie is 16,beautiful & living an almost perfect life. Until her father's boss becomes obsessed with her.Devastating events shatter her world.Will she put herself back together for her family,or succumb to numbness? *A bumpy & twisted ride.
1. Prologue

AN: I'm sure you'll be able to crack this code on your own, but this is my first attempt at writing…well, pretty much anything. I've had this idea rolling around in my noggin for a while.

Questions and feedback are most definitely welcome.

**The Fog**

**Prologue**

"**No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly." ~Oscar Wilde**

"Rosalie? Rosalie, can you hear me?"

I don't recognize the voice, but that isn't unusual. All the voices are the same in the fog. Even if I wanted to respond, which I don't, I'm not even sure I could.

"Has she been unresponsive since she arrived? I'd like to see her doctor immediately." A woman, close to my mother's age maybe….

Mom… Where is she...

The fog surrounds me, pulls me under...

"_Rosalie, don't forget your hair appointment and facial today at 3:15."_

"_Ok. What should I tell Coach Deb? She said if I get another demerit without a written doctor's excuse I'll have to run three miles. Who has time for that?" _

_Mother's face is incredulous. _"_Run three miles?" She sniffs indignantly. "Maybe, Coach Deb should consider giving her own daughter a few demerits. The little chunky monkey is bursting out of her uniform."_

"_Mother!" _

"_What? It's true and you know it. It looks perverse. Besides, Rosalie, people who have chubby daughters shouldn't throw stones...or running miles." She smirks._

_I don't want to participate in the nastiness, but a giggle escapes anyway. It's a nice change for her to be critiquing someone other than me. _

_Her already perfect posture becomes impossibly straighter. "I'll ask your father to give _Coach Deb _a call tonight. Maybe she needs to be reminded of who makes the final decision on the debt consolidation loan she and her husband have been trying to secure for the past four months."_

_I nod, and look out the window. _

"_Rosalie, this doesn't mean you can shirk your responsibilities. You're father doesn't need any rumors of his daughter slacking off and not pulling her weight on the cheer squad."_

_She daintily clears her throat. "Speaking of carrying weight… (Darn. Here I was thinking I would escape relatively unscathed.) How long has it been since your last bowel cleansing? You'll need to take care of that before Saturday." _

"She isn't unresponsive Ms. Brandon. Rosalie's injuries… she doesn't …could I speak with you privately, please?" She must have answered by nodding because I here the soft click of the door closing.

As if I care what they discuss.

The fog slips in again...

A small warm hand is lightly squeezing my wrist. I think the owner of said hand is trying to wake me.

_Please, _just leave me alone.

The wrist squeezing has turned into a firm pat on my hand. "Rosalie?" Two more pats. "Rosalie, do you know who I am?" I don't _care _who you are, just…let me sleep.

Everything hurts. Stop touching me.

More patting. "Rose, sweetie, I want to see those baby blues." Speaking more firmly this time. "Now, open your eyes and look at me." Warm hands clasp my cheeks very lightly to tilt my head, I assume toward her face.

I try to pry my hundred pound eye lids open. The fog makes opening them a chore. My vision is blurry and the light, though dimmed, seems far too bright . I try to focus on the face hovering above mine….

All I see at first is short bob of curly brown hair. Then, I see her mouth moving and concerned eyes. Her thumbs are very gently rubbing under my eyes.

I don't like it. I want to yell at her to stop touching me.

"Rosalie, do you know where you are?" Her speech seems far away and slow; too slow for the quick movements of her mouth. Like the ridiculous Bruce Lee movie dad made me watch with him.

I wonder if the boys would like kung fu…

…_the_ _boys_…

My entire body spasms. Pain shatters my thoughts. It's like when I used to dream of tripping or falling, but rather than simply jerk to consciousness, I'm slammed with white hot pain that I can't even really pinpoint because it's _everywhere._

I hear the beeping…

"Rosalie, please! I'm sorry, sweetie! I shouldn't have pushed you." I think she curses quietly, but I can't be sure. She gently releases my head…

It hurts. I doze and wait for the fog.

Someone is yelling, it's muffled but I hear it. My body stiffens slightly, I wince and then spasm again. The numbness is wearing off and it's hard to breathe…._I need the fog_.

…._Please!…_

A pain shoots through my head and I try to scream but my throat…it _burns. _I hear more machines beeping. Two women, nurses maybe, come through the door. They check machines and touch places on my body that hurt.

I won't think about that.

I hear them speaking softly. Then…the fog…slowly….

I still hear the muffled yelling.

"Why is she still so out of it? She needs to speak to the police. It's been over a week!"

I don't want to hear. I welcome the fog and hate myself a little for the weakness.

"And why, if her injuries are so substantial that she requires morphine _and_ sedation, is she on the _psych_ floor rather than in a recovery room? I want answers…

I'm losing parts of the conversation but I don't care…. .

I'm unsure how long I lay under the fog, but it's clearing again.

I'm thirsty. So thirsty…. Doesn't matter…

"Ah, there you are sweetie!" A hand is stroking my hair. "I need to talk with you for a bit so try to stay with me, ok?"

I try to nod.

"Good. I'll try to be quick." Her smile is warm, kind. If she didn't annoy the hell out of me, I'd probably like her. "I'm Mary Brandon. Your mom and I were very close friends at one time." She hesitates and clears her throat. "Do you remember me? I came here, to New York, to visit your mom several years ago. My daughter Alice was with me." She sighs. "You were probably too young to remember…" She looks away and shakes her head slightly, seemingly frustrated.

"Ba…" My throat hurts. I try again, "Baby…Ali." My voice sounds alien to my ears. It's barely audible but she hears.

"That's right, sweetie! Baby Ali. You called her that even though she was only a year younger than you."

Her mouth curves up into a bright smile and her eyes crinkle at the sides…. like mom's…

Where is my Mother? She should be here by now...

So sleepy...

"_Mom.. (she gives me a sharp glance while driving) I sigh "_Mother_, I don't think bowel cleansing is necessary." My nose crinkles. "It's gross! Can't I just fast for a day and take a laxative Friday afternoon?" Groaning "I won't eat processed foods for the rest of week. I'll stick to your tree hugging organic meal plan." I smirk, "Promise." Then bat my eyelashes sarcastically in her direction. _

_She huffs. "Rosalie, you know your father is hosting the bank's annual cookout this Saturday. Do you want to look puffy and bloated in your new bikini? Or do you want your parents to be proud of their beautiful… _slender_ daughter?" _

_A small voice from the back seat, "Rosie?" _

_From the corner of my eye I see mom scowl. I'm unsure if it's because her rant was interrupted, or because she loathes for the boys to call me Rosie. I don't like it either, usually, but from my little brothers it's an endearment. Mom getting pissed off about it is just an added bonus. _

_Tossing a long blond curl over my shoulder I turn to the back seat and smile at my 4 year old brother. "Yes, Jack?" _

_More scowling and even some teeth grinding from mom. She has something against shortened names. I know this, of course. Ah, how I love the bonus points. _

_He straightens in his booster seat, "I don't think you look poofy or floated, me and Ham think you're pretty like a princess, right Ham?" _

_Hamilton, my 6 year old brother, nods in agreement and glances up past the drivers seat at mom. _

_He whispers "Prettier than a princess." _

_He's shifting nervously in his seat. Probably due to all the shortened names flying around. _

"_Then I guess that makes you two handsome like princes, right?" Hamilton, as planned, is thoroughly affronted. He shouts "No way, Rosalie! Princes are stupid and dress like girls!" His boisterous laugh is cut short by mom, "Hamilton Hale! How many times will you need to be told to lower the volume of your voice, young man? Now sit quietly until we get to school!" _

_I cringe and mouth a silent "sorry" to Ham. He shrugs, and mouths "s'ok". Then his little shoulders droop slightly as he turns to stare out the window. I sigh and do the same. _

_It's not his fault he's so loud. He obviously gets it my from dad. Although, unlike my father who enjoys being the center of attention, Hamilton is actually quite shy until he feels very comfortable._

_We're almost to the boy's school now. Mom breaks the silence, as usual. _

"_Rosalie, it's just that it's very important to me and your father…to our _family_ that we make a good impression on Mr. King this year. Richard is in line for a huge executive promotion. The kind of promotion that could facilitate a life style change, sweetie!" She seems almost giddy. _

"_Oh! Did I mention Mr. King's son, Royce, will be there?" _

I jerk again. Harder this time. I'm sure my body leaves the bed from the force. My legs straighten and stiffen. There's new pain in my side and back I hadn't notice before. Oh God that hurts! I think I'm going to be sick. I'm sweating…shaking.

"No, no sweetie! It's ok, you're ok. Shhh, Quiet now." She strokes my hair and arm with warm hands. "Calm down, Rosebud. You're safe, now."

I don't understand this woman's eyes or words.

I want her to stop touching me.

I want my mom.

She's difficult at times but I always want her when I'm sick or scared or hurt.

I feel.. sick…so sick.

I brush …_Mary's_ arm with my finger to get her attention. "What is it, Rose? Are you hurting again? Should I call a nurse?"

I try to swallow. It hurts.

"M…. my….Mom?"

Mary's hands stop moving and she stands straighter.

She rests a small fist on her left hip as her right hand moves to her neck. She rubs the collar of her light blue blouse between her fingers. A look of confusion on her face as a scowl wrinkles her forehead.

She's staring at a spot on the wall when her eyes widen in shock or recognition of something.

Now her hands are nearly franticly rubbing my hair. Her eyes watch her hands rather than meet my eyes.

"Oh, honey…" Her lips tremble. "Sweet little Rosebud..."

I find the fog on my own this time…I think I'll stay for a bit.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 - Stalling**

**Ask a toad what is beauty? ... a female with two great round eyes coming out of her little head, a large flat mouth, a yellow belly and a brown back. ~Voltaire **

I selected a fresh daisy from the purple vase that sat in the corner of my window seat, and pushed aside the sheer curtain to gaze out over the back lawn and patio. I had a perfect view of the pool and grill area. Both were overflowing with people.

Music hummed and vibrated it's way through my window pane and seemed to land on my hands. The curtain settled back into place as I sat on the window seat and stared at my shaking hands. The daisy vibrated unnaturally. It was unsettling to look at so I let it fall to the carpet.

I would allow myself a moment.

But only a miniscule moment of panic.

Panic was fear. Weakness. Insecurity.

I was Rosalie Hale, after all. I showed no weakness, fear or insecurity.

I also tried to show no slouching, bloating or panty lines...but those were more for the sanity of my very own Mommy Dearest.

Chuckling to myself, I walked the few steps to my full length mirror. In a moment of rebellion, I cross my eyes, bend my knees a bit, hunch my shoulders, try to pooch out my tummy and snort like a little piggy a couple of times at my reflection. I fell on my bed in a fit of giggles, thinking how much my brothers would've loved to see that. Acting silly always seemed to relax the three of us. I knew they would be tense today. My parents are usually short with them when we something going on at the house.

With a sigh, I retrieved the daisy and sat down at my vanity table. I used a blond colored pin to hold a curl in place and tucked the daisy behind my ear. Then reapplied my glittery lip gloss.

Tilting my head I struck a pose, including a pinky in my nose, and nearly blinded myself with a perfectly straight, sparkling white smile. Enough silliness. Maybe mother had been correct when she said at sixteen I should've been acting more mature.

I wasn't stalling. I was told several times not to make an appearance until mother sent one of my brothers to let me know most of the guests had arrived. She was favorable of dramatic entrances. Still looking in the vanity mirror, I rolled my eyes. Correction, she was favorable of _me _making a dramatic entrance and favorable is an understatement.

So there I sat examining the positions of the small white triangles covering my boobs. I didn't mind showing skin. Competing in beauty pageants from the age of four didn't allow for modesty. However, I was seriously concerned about the twins making an uninvited appearance. I dug around in the drawer for double sided body tape; just one of the many products of necessity derived from competing regularly. I placed small strips of tape to the inside of the cups and positioned them a couple inches away from my cleavage on each side. When I had the placement just right, I shimmied and bounced on my seat. They remained covered.

With a firm look I pointed my finger at them in the mirror. "Stay."

I was a late bloomer; mother's words. I'm taller than average, at 5'9, and apparently taller girls "bloom" a bit later than girls of average or shorter height. It was as if I had a visit from the boob fairy. I went to bed not filling a small B cup and woke up the next morning popping out of a full C. Not really, but it happened fast. I could admit to being a bit self conscious at first.

However, I had always known I was beautiful. My parents and most adults had fawned and gushed over my looks for as long as I could remember.

Maybe it's unfair, but society favors the beautiful…and apparently the parents of the beautiful, as well.

My father considered any beauty maintenance an investment so I was often treated to the best spas and salons upstate New York had to offer. Not that we could afford such luxury. On the contrary, my parents were in debt up to their finely plucked eyebrows. However, it was usually me who received the country club invitations to help with fund raisers and of course, the pageant requests.

Being a minor my parents would accompany me to all events. My father probably earned half his salary by schmoozing businessmen and investors at the annual Rochester Beauty Pageants. Not to mention the state fair and local festival competitions.

Crowns and plaques were proudly displayed in our family room from competitions including Tiny Miss, Petite Junior, Little Miss Lafayette Apple, Junior Miss Harvest, Junior Miss Teen Rochester and the newest had been Miss Teen Rochester. The crowns sat in a lighted display case atop a blanket of white satin. Engravings were made on silver tags stating the details of each "victory", including the three second place plaques. In all honesty, I didn't mind competing; I loved it, actually. If there was anything about it that bothered me, it would have to be the display case. I hated the thing and I'm not even sure why.

My parents experienced sheer undiluted ecstasy when I was asked to ride in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

When asked if I would be riding a float or in a car my father answered, "Rosalie will be riding atop a new Red BMW Convertible. It was going to be a sweet 16 birthday surprise but her mother and I will give it to her a few months earlier than planned."

I squealed. A lot.

Now, somewhere in a very back corner of my mind I knew we couldn't afford that type of car and that absolutely no plans had been made for my birthday… However, the front of my mind, which was undoubtedly the more selfish location, decided that I deserved a ridiculously expensive car. Just for being me…obviously.

I would later find out that it was at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade that Royce King Jr. decided he wanted to know me.


End file.
